We crawled to the steep overhang, raising our heads just enough to confirm the football-sized rainbow was still finning lazily under an alder at a bend in the tiny stream. He sipped leisurely as helpless mayfly duns drifted into his lair. I’d drawn the long straw and made what would probably be the only cast, a bow-and-arrow shot that threaded the gap between water and overhanging branches. The fly landed with a splat and the fish darted upstream. No bragging rights on that one. But the lesson—once again—was that at certain times, especially in spring, trickles are a better bet than torrents.
Small streams aren’t just smaller versions of the rivers they feed. In spring, they may be your
